Not Always All True

One of the J.D. Salinger quotes in my last blog entry (April 23rd )was: “People always think something’s all true.”

It is not only “negative” or forceful things (like running a horse around a round pen or increasing punishment “phases”) that we are prone to assume are “all true” and implement even when the evidence before us (the horse) or within us (our "gut feeling") tells us otherwise. Sometimes, even the most wonderful practices, practices intended to bring us closer to Horse, to bring us into connection, can have the exactly the opposite effect if we zone out and leave “here and now” to mechanically follow instructions.

My most recent lesson in this (I’ve had many, but I seem to be a slow learner) was taught to me by Khe-Ra, a 3 year old Arabian filly who came into my life just a little over a year ago.

First, some background: Carolyn Resnick, a horse trainer based in California, teaches a series of horse-human interactions called “The Seven Waterhole Rituals of Wild Horses.” These Rituals are meant to be practiced at liberty, in an area large enough so that the horse can escape the human’s influence; the horse must be free to choose whether or not to participate. The First Ritual is called “Sharing Territory.” Basically, it is spending time with Horse in his world, just being together, sharing the same space without an agenda, without the human initiating interaction with the horse.

Carolyn’s instructions are to bring a book to read or a journal in which to write, in order to keep our minds occupied as we sit with Horse. If Horse comes over and is pushy about getting our attention -- grabbing the book and yanking it out of our hands, for example -- the instructions tell us to send him out of our space. If Horse is a shy, timid, submissive type and approaches us in that manner, we move to another spot.

Hanging out with Horse in First Ritual is incredibly powerful. I’m not doing it justice with the overview I gave here. It is a very simple practice that works wonders in helping to bring a horse and human closer to one another.

(Anyone wishing to learn more about the Waterhole Rituals can read Carolyn’s book “Naked Liberty” or visit her blog( http://www.carolynresnickblog.com/). There is also my article on First Ritual for the July/August, 2006 issue of Natural Horse Magazine, Volume 8 Issue 4 -- “Sharing Territory in Companionship: The First Ritual of Carolyn Resnick’s 7 Waterhole Rituals of Wild Horses”.)

Back to my lesson from Khe-Ra....

For nearly five years I have practiced First Ritual almost daily. I love this practice. It has brought me so many beautiful moments of intense connection with the horses. It has helped me become a better listener and it has deepened and strengthened our relationship with one another.

In the many times I shared space with Khemo, Kochet, and/or Desna, I’ve never had to move myself or gently shoo a horse away for being “pushy” more than one time. As soon as I gently made it clear that I didn’t want my book chewed or my journal snatched out of my hands just then, whoever-it-was would stand peacefully near me, or go away to do his own thing, or we would spontaneously do something together.

Right from the start Khe-Ra was different than the other horses with whom I’ve done First Ritual. No sooner would I sit down, prepared to spend some quality hanging-out time than she would march up to me, try to take my journal or book, scrape my head with her teeth, nuzzle my pockets....anything to get my attention off the book or journal and on to her. It usually did not matter at all if there was good grass, or a lovely ripe pear within reach on the lower limbs of the old tree near our work area. Khe-Ra would be right by me, “in my face”, wanting me to lovingly embrace *her* with my mindfulness, instead of my book. I would gently shoo her away and off she would go, only to return after a few minutes, sometimes after a few seconds, and begin the grabbing, scraping, and nuzzling all over again. During one session I gently shooed Khe-Ra away at least a dozen times. Finally, she decided she had had enough and walked away “for good.” I sat for another half hour and she did not come back. It was all or nothing with her -- no middle ground of grazing near me in peaceful companionship.

On the day I got my lesson that even the best things are not always “all true” I let Khe-Ra out of the paddock to graze in the unfenced area around the barn while I sat down on my bench under an ash tree where my cat friend, I.C., and a book were waiting for me. I started to read. Before long, there was Khe-Ra, chasing I.C. away, nuzzling me, trying to rub her itchy lower jaw on my head, grabbing my book... She grudgingly, but obediently moved off when I shooed her away but was back again in a few moments. After a few repetitions of me shooing her away and her returning, a thought came clearly, “loudly,” and fully formed into my mind:

“What’s the point of hanging out together if we’re just going to pretend to ignore each other?”

The question seemed to come from Khe-Ra... a puzzled, somewhat frustrated Khe-Ra. In that instant of hearing that question, the “rules” of First Ritual seemed oppressive and artificial to me -- not at all in alignment with what I was feeling in the moment. After all, I *do* come out to spend time with the horses, to be closer to them... not to ignore them or pretend to ignore them while we share territory. I want them to initiate communication with me, to let me know what they need and want.

In the process of trying to follow some rules, I had become disconnected from my feelings. In labeling Khe-Ra’s efforts to get my attention as “dominant”, “aggressive”, “pushy” according to an external standard, I had become disconnected from her. In shooing her away every time she tried to get me to interact with her, I had been acting from that external standard, responding according to a formula, rather than from my own feelings in the moment. Labeling certain actions as “dominant” or “aggressive” or “wrong”, and thinking that there is a certain one-size-fits-all set of actions to deal with such behaviors is a Very Bad Habit.

It is a habit that makes me lose touch with reality, the reality of what is happening right here, right now, with me, and with Horse. I did not shoo Khe-Ra away because of a genuine emotion I felt -- that would have made some sense. I shooed Khe-Ra away because I thought I should do xyz when a horse does abc. That’s crazy -- unless what I want is a surefire recipe for misunderstanding, separation, and alienation.

That day my Very Bad Habit almost trapped me into closing myself off to Khe-Ra. Almost. But First Ritual had worked its magic -- at least part of me was in listening mode and open to the horse with whom I was sharing space. And that horse was very persistent about trying to get her point across, thank goodness.

Regardless of what the rules said, what FELT authentic and true and right in the moment with this particular young horse, with Khe-Ra, was to engage with her. So... finally .... that’s what I did.

What followed was a wonderful walk together at liberty... my idea of pure bliss.

This and that

I'm finding blog entries to be unruly devils. This one in particular was giving me a lot of trouble. It is not that I could not think of anything to write about. The problem is more the opposite -- as soon as I started writing a post about one thing EVERYTHING else about which I've considered writing wanted to come in too and I was left with an incoherent jumble of thoughts. The “delete” button has been getting a good workout lately.

For some reason (perhaps it has to do with the author’s recent death), J.D. Salinger’s novel, “The Catcher in the Rye” has been coming to mind, even though more than 40 years have gone by since I read the book. The thought was so persistent, that, as an experiment, I decided to look at some favorite quotes from the book and see if they led me anywhere that has to do with horses. Here's what happened:

People always think something's all true. ~J.D. Salinger, The Catcher in the Rye, Chapter 2

This brought to mind our tendency to seek out teachers and gurus and experts and clinicians in an effort to have a better relationship with our horses. A man (or woman) achieves a certain something with some horses, writes about it or makes a film, and we beg them to teach us what they do, exactly how they do it. We want step by step directions so that we can build that perfect souffle... and in doing so we forget that we’re not building a souffle, we are trying to create a relationship, build a friendship.

Very often in the process of trying to put someone else's method into practice or just follow instructions, we forget all about the horse whom we want to befriend. In trying to diligently follow the guru’s prescription for “happiness in relation with horses” we run our would-be friend around a round pen to the point of exhaustion, damaging his body and his spirit; we up the phases of “punishment” exactly as directed(what does that do to a friendship?); we decide to keep our horse by himself in a small pen, in sight of other horses but unable to interact with them, so that he’ll be more eager to engage with us because that is what our teacher recommends ("you'll interact with me whether you want to or not"); or we put our timid horse out in a large herd of horses in an overcrowded paddock where he is bullied, run ragged, and kept from his hay because the expert we’ve consulted says that this is good for him ("it's for your own good, builds character").

What I’ve noticed is that different horses respond differently... to diet, to the weather, to insect bites, to herd mates, to me, to a request given in a certain way, ... to almost everything. Each of the three horses who share my life communicates with me in his/her own unique way; each hears me differently. No “method”, no set of step-by-step instructions can take into account all that individuality and variability.

In “Empowered Horses” in the section titled “About this Book” Imke Spilker writes: “Where your own personal communication with a horse is concerned, there can be only two experts. One is reading this book just now. The other will know that you have read it.”

Even that is not always all true. Sometimes, a third party -- another expert, four-legged or two-legged -- can help the two experts -- you and your horse -- communicate better.

:-)

People never notice anything. ~J.D. Salinger, The Catcher in the Rye, Chapter 2

When I read that, I thought: That could be a horse saying that. It is so true... we human beings usually just do not notice when horses communicate with us in their own quiet, subtle way. Sometimes the horses go to greater lengths to get our attention -- they buck, or rear, or run away as we approach. The push us, bite us, kick out at us. Eventually we finally notice that something is wrong -- but what usually happens next? Very often, we automatically leap to the conclusion that what is wrong is the horse’s behavior. We consider it a “training issue” and do whatever it is we do to get the horse to behave differently. The real cause of the "problem" goes unacknowledged and untreated.

What would happen if we disciplined ourselves to regularly exercise our noticing muscles, if we diligently practiced paying attention? What would be different?

What has happened with me is that I notice more. I notice my thoughts and feelings as I’m entering the horses’ space. I notice more subtle signs of unease or tension... in myself and in the horses.

I’ve come to realize that “behavior” -- whether I consider it “good” or “bad”, whether I like it or not-- is just information about how the horse is feeling. Instead of focusing on how to get a horse to stop behaving in a certain way, I focus on other things. “What happened?” “How did this behavior start?” “What caused this horse to go from feeling good or okay, to feeling bad”?

Or, at any rate, I do my best.

Old attitudes, old habits of thought die hard. Some attitudes are so big and run so deep, they are so much a part of me that it seems as though if they go, I won’t be “me” anymore. Sometimes (in my desire for a certain something) I struggle against what is. Instead of going with the flow of life, I swim against the current. I want the horse to be different than he is. I want me to be different than I am right in this moment. More and more, I notice this. When I do, the feeling passes, like a cloud floating by. Eventually, the next thought or feeling arises. Will I notice when it does?

All morons hate it when you call them a moron. ~J.D. Salinger, The Catcher in the Rye, Chapter 6

The second (less common) definition of “moron” and the sense in which I am using it here is: “a very foolish or stupid person.” (New World Dictionary of the American Language).

When we take the bridles and ropes and halters off our horses, when we take them out of the enclosed arena, and give them room to run away, we give up control of them in the moment. (Let us leave aside for the moment the horses that have been so broken in spirit that they are totally under a human’s thumb, under "control", even when they are “at liberty.”)

Then what? What happens when I want a horse to come to me and he doesn’t, when I want him to follow me and he goes the other way?

The simple answer is that I am confronted with my own lack of knowledge and skill. I am brought face to face with my inability to communicate with this being, and the mistakes I’ve made in the relationship.

The horse isn’t calling me a “moron” -- he is just doing what he prefers to do in the moment. But, because I cannot get him to do what I want, I feel like a “moron." I feel like an extremely stupid person.

Feeling stupid and/or powerless and/or out of control is neither pleasant nor comfortable. Sometimes it is very frightening. I think that is why people persist in using bits even after they learn how harmful and hurtful they are to a horse. It is why they keep their horses well restrained during every single interaction, even grooming. They’re afraid of their own uncomfortable feelings. They don’t want to face the prospect of being made to look foolish, stupid. They hate the idea of “losing face,” of being called a “moron.”

It is, I think, why Alexander Nevzorov brings up such anger, resentment, even hatred in some people. He bluntly points out the harm done to horses by using them in sports, by forcing bits into their mouths, by shoeing them; he calls out stupidity and cruelty as he sees it, and he usually has facts at hand to prove that what he sees is so.

It's really too bad that so much crumby stuff is a lot of fun sometimes. ~J.D. Salinger, The Catcher in the Rye, Chapter 9

What if bits were actually good for horses instead of harming them? What if all riding -- no matter how bad the rider, no matter how punishing the course or terrain -- built up horses rather than broke them down?

Isn’t that a lovely fantasy? Wouldn't it be great to be able to go ahead and do the things that are fun for us with a clear conscience?

The reality is -- bits and most riding are “crumby stuff” for the horse. They are harmful. Can we still have fun knowing that is so?

"Take most people, they're crazy about cars. They worry if they get a little scratch on them, and they're always talking about how many miles they get to a gallon, and if they get a brand-new car already they start thinking about trading it in for one that's even newer. I don't even like old cars. I mean they don't even interest me. I'd rather have a goddam horse. A horse is at least human, for God's sake." ~J.D. Salinger, The Catcher in the Rye, Chapter 17

As far as I know, J.D. Salinger wasn’t a horse person. What struck me as interesting about this quote is that he recognized horses as sentient beings, as being essentially different from cars. Yet, so many horse people -- who should know better -- treat these intelligent, sensitive beings like objects, like cars, for example -- they no sooner get a fancy horse and they start thinking about trading "it" in for one that’s even fancier. They worry about a minor injury -- an unsightly scrape -- to the horse’s body but are oblivious to the condition of the horse’s spirit. They communicate with this feeling thinking creature as though with an appliance... push here, pull there, whack hard if it doesn’t function as expected.

"........ you'll find that you're not the first person who was ever confused and frightened and even sickened by human behavior. You're by no means alone on that score, you'll be excited and stimulated to know. Many, many men have been just as troubled morally and spiritually as you are right now. Happily, some of them kept records of their troubles. You'll learn from them - if you want to. Just as someday, if you have something to offer, someone will learn something from you. It's a beautiful reciprocal arrangement. And it isn't education. It's history. It's poetry." ~J.D. Salinger, The Catcher in the Rye, Chapter 24

This made me think of groundbreaking books, books that offer us a different perspective than the ego-based human one, books like “Black Beauty”, “Kinship with all Life”, “Empowered Horses”, etc. It made me think of the websites like that of the Communicative Horses and Nevzorov Haute Ecole. And, it made me think of the bloggers out there, like my friend Lynne Gerard, keeping a record of their troubles and their joys... sharing their experience of a different way to be with horses, making history, creating art and poetry.

Don't ever tell anybody anything. If you do, you start missing everybody. ~J.D. Salinger, The Catcher in the Rye, Chapter 26

Don’t ever start questioning anything. If you do, you start questioning everything. Kris McCormack, “Words about Horses”

:-)

Communication and training

A week or two ago, I decided to re-visit J. Allen Boone’s “Kinship With All Life” after many, many years.

For those of you who are unfamiliar with this amazing little book, it is the true first-person account of Mr. Boone’s education in communicating with animals. His teacher was Strongheart, a German Shepherd cinema star of the 1940’s and 50’s. Boone is asked to care for Strongheart when both the dog’s caregivers are unexpectedly called out of town for an extended period. Boone has several experiences with Strongheart that demonstrate to him beyond doubt that the Shepherd is able to read his mind at will, and he wonders why he -- the “superior” human -- cannot read the dog’s mind in the same way.

In an effort to truly understand the extraordinary character who is sharing his home, Boone at first reads books about dogs and consults traditional authorities. He learns much about the physical attributes of “good examples” of various breeds, and he learns certain theories of dog training... but finds nothing that brings him closer to his goal of understanding Strongheart the way Strongheart understands him. The “experts” all deal with the purely physical, and whatever “communication” they discuss is all one way, from man to dog, in the form of commands. There is no guidance in how to establish a true dialog -- in fact, the implication is that it is unnecessary. What could a “lower animal” have to say to a human being? Furthermore, a dialog is not what is wanted in “training.” What is wanted is obedience, submission.

More than 50 years later, this still sounds sadly familiar to those of us who have looked for guidance in learning to understand the silent language of horses.

Boone decides to consult his friend, Mohave Dan -- a desert recluse of few words who is able to effortlessly communicate with animals of all kinds. Dan tells Boone: “There’s facts about dogs,.... and there’s opinions about them. The dogs have the facts and the humans have the opinions. If you want facts about a dog, always get them straight from the dog. If you want opinions, get them from the human.”

As "Kinship" progresses, it becomes clear that what Mohave Dan said about dogs, is also true about the other creatures of the world. So, we can take his advice with respect to understanding horses, and go straight to them for the facts. Getting ourselves into a state where we can truly listen and understand what they’re actually “saying” -- rather than projecting our desires and expectations on them and hearing what we want to hear -- that is the real challenge, at least for me.

Back to “Kinship” -- Boone takes Dan’s advice and commits himself to being the student of Professor Strongheart. So begins his learning of silent speech, the common language of all creation, the “simple universal language... which moves without the need for sound from heart to heart”.

It is not all smooth going. After a time of conversing effortlessly with Strongheart, Boone runs into an impasse in which the dog again becomes a complete enigma to him, as though something were blocking the way. Boone soon realizes that he himself is the one who has blocked genuine communication with Strongheart, because “I had mentally assigned myself to the upper part of this relationship of ours because I happened to be ‘a human,’ and had mentally assigned him to the lower part because he was ‘a dog’.”

Boone found that two-way communication flowed smoothly as long as he kept his mental contacts with Strongheart as “high, as horizontal, and as wide open as possible.” However, when he lapsed into old habits and attitudes and communicated “down” to Strongheart as though from a superior being to an inferior one, the unity was shattered and real communication came to an end.

Boone’s experience teaches us that if we want to learn the language of the heart, if we want to have intimate two-way conversations with our fellow beings, with horses, then we must view them as equals in the Grand Scheme of Things. And we must speak from the best in ourselves.

We meet the “Other” be he horse or dog or housefly in a “place” of togetherness where the boundary between us blurs, or even disappears -- a place where we are in unity. I think this “place” is real -- a field of energy, a frequency or wavelength to which we can learn to attune ourselves. Boone speaks of a bridge from mind to mind. Imke Spilker has referred to it as a “bubble” around a horse and a human in togetherness.

What a truly radical notion this idea of equality in unity is to anyone conditioned by western culture or indoctrinated with the philosophy of the various permutations of traditional and/or so-called “natural”horsemanship -- culture and philosophy absolutely grounded in and permeated with the notions of hierarchy and human superiority to the animal kingdom. If we’ve been taught that man must dominate horse, must let him know who's boss, if deep down we still believe what we have long been taught -- that humans have an inborn right to control horses and to expect submission and obedience from them -- then we are going to have quite some work to do at letting go of those notions. The same goes for those of us who have bought into the idea that humankind is the “crown of creation.” (How very outmoded that notion sounds to me these days!) We might find it a bit of a challenge to shed that belief -- but I think it is something that needs to be done before we can see our fellow beings as equals and truly communicate with them.

We’ve got our work cut out for us, because many of these kinds of beliefs are so much a part of us that we are not even conscious that we hold them. To let go of them, we first have to realize we have them; we must bring them into the light of awareness.

Since re-reading “Kinship” I have been asking myself a lot of questions, among them: “What is it that I believe about horses?” “What do I believe about communicating with animals, with horses?” “What do I really mean by communication?” “How does “training” -- of whatever kind -- fit into all this?” “What about discipline?” “Obedience?”

Boone has this to say about training, (he’s writing about the typical dog trainer in his day):

“ ... his primary ambition is so to dominate the animal that it will be completely subservient to him, obey his every command, and treat him with idolatrous attention at all times....

Most of the animals that man has used to serve his own selfish ends down through the centuries have been products of this training-without-education system. A minimum of intelligence and a maximum of force are employed in order to compel blind obedience.... The animal’s resistance is so broken down and its spontaneity and initiative so dulled that it supinely does whatever the trainer demands. With its thinking and natural impulses walled off, it becomes a four-legged slave, submissively serving the moods and whims of the human ego that is playing God to it.”

Does that remind you of anything? I thought immediately of a horse in a round pen being forced -- completely “non-violently” of course -- into “joining up.” (Some time we’ll have to talk about the meaning of non-violence.)

Typically, when we speak of “training” a horse we mean conditioning him to reliably obey certain standardized commands. Sometimes we call the commands “requests” or “cues” -- but the interaction is the same. We tell the horse what to do and we expect him to do it. His compliance is enforced by the threat of negative consequences (the pain of a bit, the lash of a whip, the jab of a spur, being forced to run to the point of exhaustion, etc.) if he resists or refuses to obey our orders, and/or the promise of a reward (release of physical or psychological pressure, food, etc.) if he submits promptly and correctly.

Does this have anything at all to do with genuine communication, with dialog?

Not that I can see. First of all, no matter how kindly the training is done and how positively it is reinforced, whatever communication occurs is one-way and strictly hierarchal -- from the human in charge to the subservient horse.

(The fact that horses so often manage to figure out what we want by our pushing and pulling and chasing and babbling and gesturing says much more about their intelligence and perceptive abilities than about any skill on our part in getting across what it is we want them to do. Horses read us fluently ... and usually we do not have even a clue about what they're thinking and feeling. What does that tell us about ourselves?)

Second, and most important, in addition to being two-way -- a dialog-- true communication is fresh and alive and in present time. It cannot be rehearsed or practiced in advance. One creature always giving orders and another creature always obeying orders is not a conversation. Conditioning an animal to reliably obey certain signals, commands, or cues no matter who gives them and under whatever circumstances is clearly not the same thing as having a dialog with him, listening to him, hearing/seeing him, responding to him and his feelings and opinions in the moment.

In an interview with Horses For Life e-magazine (2009) Imke Spilker said the following (my translation) about this:

Horses know very well that they have a voice. But they assume that the human being has no interest in what they have to say...

... A horse lives shut-up in his stall or behind a fence and the human being comes by sometimes and wants something. Depending on what prior experience the horse has had, he has learned to do something particular during these encounters in order to avoid unpleasantness, or to get a treat. In principle, he learns to adapt himself to our demands in the same way he learns to avoid the shock from the electric fence or the way he learns to rub against an apple tree so that a few pieces of fruit fall down. He adapts, and tries to stay out of the way of aggravation.....

Communication is a very much used word. For me it means much more than being an apple tree or an electric fence, depending on circumstances. Is the interaction between the horse and the electric fence communication?

****************

The other questions that were raised from my re-reading of “Kinship” are still percolating within me. Discussions of them may be material for other entries here. For right now though, it is clearer than ever to me that what we commonly call “training” has absolutely nothing to do with the “simple universal language... which moves without the need for sound from heart to heart”.

Touch and the Spirit of Scratching an Itch

Have you ever been touched by someone against your will? Has someone's touch ever made you uncomfortable or felt distinctly unpleasant?

I'm not talking about instances of sexual abuse or harassment, or being manhandled by someone with the intent to do harm. I'm talking about ordinary, everyday situations with essentially well-meaning people. For example, perhaps as a child you had someone in your life -- we'll call her great Aunt Griselda -- who insisted on smothering you in bear hugs whenever she visited, even though you --- allergic to Auntie's perfume and unable to breathe while in her embrace -- tried your best to avoid her. You did not want to offend her -- she was mother’s favorite aunt and all in all a very nice lady -- but you really wanted to stay out of hugging distance because she was oblivious to your discomfort. Or maybe you've been to a fancy hair salon where you get a shampoo-with-shiatsu-massage before your haircut. This is pure bliss when the shampooer/masseuse is sensitive, perceptive, and tuned into you... and a tension-inducing, uncomfortable ordeal when she is not.

It’s the same thing with scratching an itch for a horse. When we are sensitive, perceptive, and tuned in we help Horse experience "scratch ecstasy" -- shown by an upper lip pursed and stretched forward just as far as it can go, the craned neck, the body leaning into our touch. If we are insensitive, oblivious, or mechanical in our approach or in our actions... we create tension and unpleasantness.

Sensitivity and awareness need to come into play before we ever lay fingers on the horse's body. Why are we choosing to do this? How do we approach Horse to make the offer of a scratch? How does he feel about our being close to him, about us touching him?

It seems to me that best reason for offering Horse a scratch is to bring him relief, comfort, and pleasure in our company. It's a simple act of kindness, done out of genuine affection. The side effects of this are that it helps improve communication between us and brings us closer to one another. That’s great, and much to be desired. But I need to beware, to be aware of what is going on with me, so that I do not start unconsciously using this pleasurable activity as a "technique" to somehow manipulate horse. Turning what should be an act of kindness and an intimate act of affection into a “tool” or “trick” for better horse “training” is a perversion to be avoided at all costs. So, in my eagerness to form a friendship with Horse, to have him like me, I need to be continually aware not only of what I'm doing, but why I'm doing it.

In all my interactions with horses it is helpful to continually ask myself -- as Imke Spilker recommends - "why do I do what I do." In the proper spirit of scratching an itch the best answer is probably something like: " I'm doing this because I like Horse and want to do something nice for him that shows him how much I like him." If that's not my honest answer, then it might be better to do something else.

It should go without saying that we would never force a horse to submit to having us scratch his itches by holding him or tying him up or otherwise restraining him. And yet, far stranger things have happened in the relationship between human and horse. Countless horses every day are forced to submit to what should be pleasurable activities -- being groomed, being massaged, being bathed. How must it feel to be given a massage against your will? Can you imagine anything beneficial resulting from that?

There's a damaging attitude or underlying belief (often unconscious) that has to be chucked if we are to stay in the proper spirit of scratching an itch -- namely, the belief that says I have the absolute right, or “should” be able, to touch Horse whenever, wherever, however I please. That attitude is a hangover from countless centuries of treating Horse as property, as an unfeeling piece of "livestock," and it is completely incongruent in a relationship of courteous acquaintance, let alone a genuine friendship. Just as with another human being -- I touch Horse only with permission. I enter his personal space only with his permission.

It is easiest to “understand” horses when they have plenty of room to move. When a horse is in an open space and he knows he is free to walk (or run) away from me whenever he pleases, it is usually pretty clear when he is saying “yes” and when he is saying “no”. But, in close quarters, a box stall, for example, it is not always so easy for a horse to freely express himself. Such situations require me to be especially attuned. I must be extra alert for any little sign that Horse is not welcoming my approach -- a slight tensing of his body, or perhaps only of his lips, or chin, or jaw, or ears; a slight turn of his head away from me, ignoring me, etc. I must be careful, too, to avoid blocking him with my body -- cornering him.

Certainly I do not want to play the role of Aunt Griselda to the horses in my life, nor do I want to be the oblivious masseuse. So, the offer to scratch an itch, must always be just that -- an offer which Horse is free to accept or refuse. And, when I’m actually touching Horse, I owe it to him to stay as aware, as open, and as receptive as I am able, to ensure that I am indeed giving pleasure rather than causing distress. "Where do you need me to scratch?" "Is this hard enough?" " Too hard?" "How does this feel?" Those are the sorts of questions that should be running through my mind as I try to sense what Horse is feeling as I touch him.

How does it feel to do something for a horse without wanting anything in return?